


Rosy Lips

by prettygr88n



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry Potter, Crossdressing, Escort Harry Potter, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettygr88n/pseuds/prettygr88n
Summary: Harry knows his friends are concerned about his lifestyle, but there are some things he’s just not ready to give up.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Rosy Lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corona_0304](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corona_0304/gifts).



With some difficulty, Harry balances the morning newspaper, a cup of coffee and a bag from Marks & Spencers in one hand as he unlocks the door to his flat. He wasn’t expecting to see anyone inside, but his glance to the brunette reading on his couch is unconcerned.

“Hey, Hermione, didn’t know you were stopping by,” he says as he makes his way to the kitchen to deposit his bundle.

His longtime friend makes a noise of agreement from the couch, but does not look up from her reading material. It is only after Harry has put away his groceries and returned to the sitting room, coffee and newspaper in hand, that he notices what she is reading.

“You do realize that it’s illegal to read another wizard’s mail?” he says as he falls into an armchair. There’s no point in removing the mail in question from Hermione’s hands; she’d only accuse him of hiding something then.

“Immoral perhaps,” she corrects, eyes never lifting from the page. “But not necessarily unlawful.”

“Necessarily?” he prompts.

She does not take the bait. “You’ve post from three different wizards and a witch all asking for dates,” she says once she’d finished riffling through his letters. She tosses the stack back onto the table where she must have found them and gives him a disapproving look.

Harry shrugs. “I get asked out all the time. You know that.”

“Yes, but you’ve written replies agreeing to all of them.” Her pointed finger lands on a second stack. They are indeed replies he hasn’t yet sent off. 

“Nothing wrong with playing the field, Hermione. Just because you didn’t need to doesn’t mean the rest of us are so lucky.”

She frowns. “Don’t try and make me feel sorry for you, Harry Potter. We both know that’s not what’s going on and I’m worried about you. You’re constantly in the gossip rags, and with a different person every time. Don’t you ever have any second dates?”

Harry looks away and smiles to himself. “Only with those that capture my interest,” he assures her.

Harry’s dick is hard the moment the man opens his polished mahogany door. He doesn’t bother trying to hide it and instead makes a show of adjusting himself as he steps over the threshold.

“Clothes off, shower, return in no more than twenty minutes,” is the lazy dismissal he gets. For all the bored tone Draco Malfoy is affecting, Harry knows he’s expecting obedience. Draco knows what he wants, and he wants the complete fantasy. Harry has no doubt that if the illusion is broken for even one moment he’ll find himself tossed out onto the rainy streets of Kensington. 

Fortunately, the man is a pleasure to obey, far more gratifying than Calista Monroe, who seems to enjoy watching him do housework in hot pants.

He uses the usual potions and tonics in the shower, one to soften his hair, another to remove the stubble from his face and body, a third to soften and tan his skin. He’s left dripping on the tiles feeling refreshed and smelling faintly of green apples. He dons the white cotton robe he’s used before and slips his feet into the matching slippers before going out to meet Draco in his playroom.

It’s not strictly a playroom in the traditional sense. Harry’s seen what some witches and wizards call their playroom. They are usually decked out with leather and chains. An entire room dedicated to a particular kink can be quite lavish. Of course, Harry’s also seen entire fetishes banned to sock drawers and secret compartments. But of all the playrooms Harry has seen, Draco’s is his favorite.

For one, it’s almost an exact replica of Draco’s own master suite (Harry knows; he’d snooped one afternoon after finishing his shower with precisely 3 minutes to spare). The walls are a rich cream, the furniture heavy and wooden. A sleigh bed dominates the room, covered in various shades of blue and framed on either side by his and her nightstands. A writing table rests in one corner, and a vanity beneath the window. A walk-in closet and an en suite are both attached. 

Draco is at the desk when Harry walks in, his quill working at a steady pace down the curling scroll. He does not look up as Harry walks in so Harry makes his way to the padded stool at the vanity and looks out the window. The rain is letting up a bit and just a hint of the sunset can be seen peeking through the clouds.

Eventually Draco finishes his missive, flips on the wireless and stands behind Harry, resting his hands on his shoulders. Something light and classical bounces through the room as Draco runs a hand through Harry’s still-wet locks. He hums in a way Harry’s learned is contentment and picks up a brush.

It’s no hardship to close his eyes and submit to Draco’s ministrations, though it is difficult to remain still while doing so. For this part, at least, Draco prefers him to remain as motionless and silent as possible, and Harry is very good at his job. 

The potion Draco has him to use on his hair leaves it soft and wavy, a texture Harry’s never been able to duplicate outside Draco’s posh flat. Later Draco will style the usually unruly locks, but for now he simply brushes the water out of the strands and sets the brush away again. 

Slowly the hand on Harry’s head slides down the side of his neck, over his shoulder, down his arm, until familiar fingers are sliding through his own and lifting his hand up for closer inspection. He knows Draco’s examining his nails to see if they need further cutting, but this time, at least, they seem to pass inspection as Draco next reaches for the buffer. Harry’s hands rest in Draco’s as each of his fingernails is brought to a fine shine.

Next Draco opens one of the drawers on the vanity. Row upon row of small glass bottles lay inside in a rainbow of colors, though there are a large number of darker, bloodier reds. Tonight he’s chosen a soft petal pink, when the lid is uncapped Harry can see it’s called Rosy Lips.

Rosy Lips are dusted across his nails as Draco delicately holds each finger still for the slim brush. He knows he’s not supposed to move, but Harry tilts his head just slightly so he can better see the intense concentration on the other man’s face as he works. Each miniscule movement of the brush captures all of Draco’s energies, each stroke precise in every way.

As he works, Draco’s index fingers caress Harry’s palm so slightly he’s not even sure if Draco is aware of the movement at all.

When Draco is finished, not a single finger is left accidentally stained by the polish, but he spends several moments inspecting each to ensure that this is true. A second coat follows with a spell to ensure the paint dries as expected. 

Afterwards, Draco sets aside his wand, and gently arranges Harry’s hands in his lap before sliding down to the floor and kneeling at Harry’s feet. The slippers are removed and displaced with care, and Harry’s feet exchange their perch of soft cushioning for firm thighs.

Harry’s not quite sure how his toes could look anything but manly, even with the hair removal potions his feet are too large and knobby, but Draco caresses them as if they were as finely boned as a woman’s. A lotion is rubbed into his heels as Draco’s fingers massage beneath his arches, and then another bottle is in Draco’s hands and Harry’s toenails are being painted a bright and playful purple. Apparently Draco’s in a spirited mood tonight. 

As with his fingernails, Draco works carefully and intently, adding two coats before using his wand to dry his toenails. And, as before, Draco sets each of his feet aside with reverent care, letting them hit the bare carpet rather than imprisoning them again in the plain cotton slippers.

Still kneeling at his feet, Draco turns his gaze upward and Harry shivers with the thought of what happens next. It is, Harry must admit, his favorite part of Draco’s very specific set-up.

“You really are a bit of a slut, aren’t you?” Marie Bouchard whispers into his ear over the entrée. 

He grins and shoots her a look through his fringe. “I think I could say the same about you.” 

She ignores him and continues on. “How many of them in this room have you had? How many have experienced the pleasure of your company?”

Harry looks around the dining room and considers the question more seriously than Marie had perhaps intended. They are in attendance at Barrister Fensterwald’s annual Midsummer’s party and there are in fact a number of men and women he’s met before in a professional capacity. Some he’s only escorted, some he’s slept with, the decision to do so has always been his own.

“I’m not sure you want to know,” he answers since he cannot even confirm a number.

Marie smiles. “Just so long as you understand that I expect you to be thinking of me when I ride you into the mattress tonight.”

He smiles back. “Just so long as you understand that costs extra.”

The lotion is faintly scented by something Harry’s never been able to identify, but it’s light and pleasing, and only slightly feminine, and the scent seems to linger on his skin long after he leaves Draco’s house.

Draco takes great care in warming the substance in his hands before reaching out and massaging it into Harry’s skin, first up each of his calves, then beneath the edge of his robe into his thighs. By the time Draco’s untying the cotton robe and pulling the ends apart Harry is hard again and leaking against his belly.

As usual, Draco ignores Harry’s obvious erection, even when it is practically twitching against his arm. Instead Draco massages the lotion into Harry’s stomach, then chest, then up and over his shoulders where he knocks the rest of the robe from Harry’s upper body. Once his arms are carefully removed, the remaining material falls around the circular stool, still captured under Harry’s arse and thighs, but no longer covering his body. 

Although it looks as if Draco is immune to the sudden wealth of skin on display, Harry knows better. He can feel the slight falter in Draco’s otherwise precise movements, and he’s sure there’s tenting in the front of Draco’s trousers. But the man remains almost clinical in his task, not even lingering when he moves behind Harry and massages down Harry’s back, ending at the very top of his arse. 

Harry forces himself not to clench his buttocks together or to thrust his pelvis up as he desires to do. He needs the scene as much as Draco does now, needs to see it to its eventual conclusion. He won’t do anything to ruin the illusion at this point.

Feeling soft and pampered Harry is led to the lingerie chest inside the walk-in. The cotton robe is left discarded and forgotten by the vanity, but Harry is not uncomfortable in his nakedness. 

It doesn’t appear that tonight is one of the nights where Draco will spend some time digging through the drawers of silk and lace. He’s apparently bought something new for Harry, it’s still wrapped in delicate paper and tied with a pink ribbon. Draco makes short work of the casing and pulls out several pieces of nude-colored lingerie overlaid with black lace. 

Draco sets the pieces aside, pulling out the panties and kneels once more at Harry’s feet. One delicate hand grasps around Harry’s ankle and Harry lifts his feet on cue, first one, then the other. Draco rises to his knees, bringing the silky panties up Harry’s calves then his thighs. Harry’s erection has softened somewhat so that he is now only semi-hard, but Draco easily captures his cock in the soft material without ever brushing it with a bare hand. The elastic waistband feels tight against Harry’s belly and his cock feels almost too confined, but even he has to admit that the fabric does feel amazing. He’s not so sure about the way the thong splits his arse though, but since the sight of it makes even Draco forget himself and swallow heavily, Harry won’t complain.

Because Draco is a traditionalist, a matching garter belt and two black stockings follow, the bracers connecting on Harry’s thighs with small nude-colored ribbons. Draco takes extra care in adjusting each pale bow before rising gracefully to his feet and picking up the bra. 

There are a number of spells and potions to render temporary breasts. God knows Harry had seen them before, and they are not his favorite. Looking like a girl is one thing, in his preference, but he wants to know he’s still a man underneath the lotion and lace. Thankfully, Draco must feel at least partially the same way, since he never even attempts to grant Harry cleavage. Instead the bra is wireless and flat, and covers Harry’s chest without adding anything to it. The lace is rough against Harry’s nipples, but he drastically prefers that feeling to soft padding. Later, when they are out, he’ll feel the rough glide against his nipples with every step.

Once he’s finished arranging Harry to his satisfaction, Draco steps back.

“Turn around,” he says, and Harry’s pleased to hear that his voice is sounding rough. “Slowly.”

Harry pivots as slowly as he possibly can, and yes, he’s right, the lace bra scratches against his chest, and the thong between his cheeks feels as unpleasant as he thought, but neither do anything to quell his still half-hard cock. Or Malfoy’s, it seems, who presses the heel of one hand between his legs before leading Harry back to the vanity.

“I just don’t see why you can’t just choose one of them and settle down.” Ron’s already red in the cheeks, a clear sign he’s had too much, so Harry doesn’t take offense.

“It’s not as easy as all that, Ron,” he explains for the millionth time. 

“Ron, you promised you wouldn’t bring this up,” Hermione adds, tight lipped. She gestures meaningfully to the babe on her hip and rolls her eyes when Ron fails to grasp the significance and plows onward. 

“I just don’t get why you can’t choose between fanny and prick!”

“Ron!” Hermione shoots, but then with another shake of her head she apparently gives up on the whole conversation and leaves the dining room.

Ron doesn’t notice her leaving, as he’s still regarding Harry with concern and confusion.

This is the part that Harry does actually feel guilty about. From a distance it must certainly appear that he is the most discerning wizard in the world. The truth is, as usual, far simpler than the lies and speculation spread by Rita Skeeter and eaten up by his adoring, but confused and often concerned public. The truth is he likes it. 

He loves the lavish attention, the variety, and the unexpected thrill that comes with meeting a new client. And above all, he loves the sex. The real truth of it all is that he’d probably pay for someone to do the things he’s experienced to him. It’s just good fortune that he instead gets paid for it.

“I can’t explain it, Ron,” says Harry. And how could he? His dates vary so much in appearance and personality. How could he explain why one week he’s out with portly, middle-aged Guy Ferguson from the Ministry’s Human Resources, and why the next he’s on the arm of Salina Arellano, the latest up and coming pop sensation.

“I just want you happy,” Ron tries desperately. “Can you tell me that, can you tell me you’re happy?”

Harry thinks about this. “Sometimes,” he explains. “Sometimes I am.”

They are sitting across from one another at La Côte d’Or. Draco has changed his plain trousers and robes for dark slacks and a fine blue shirt. The colors match Harry’s own outfit, a high boat-neck navy frock accented by pearl earrings and barrettes. There’s also a diamond engagement ring on Harry’s fourth finger and a silver clutch resting on the table. Harry’s hair has been pulled and pinned back in such a way as to make it appear that there is much more of it than there is beneath the artificial bun at the back of his head. 

Until meeting with Draco, Harry’s never thought he’s made a very convincing woman, or considered himself to be particularly feminine. But even he has to admit that he’s certainly passable. Draco, it seems, is an amazing stylist, and no one at the restaurant has glanced at Harry with anything other than appreciation.

“They’re staring at you,” Draco whispers against the rim of his whiskey glass. 

“You like that, don’t you?” answers Harry. He knows his voice is far too deep to ever be mistaken for a woman’s. Draco knows it too, and Harry gets a thrill at the response he invokes by speaking out. 

“A good woman should be seen and not heard,” snaps Draco, far more menacingly than he means.

“I thought that phrase applied only to children,” Harry continues.

“Women too,” Draco insists.

“Ah, then I’m afraid I must explain why that appendage between my legs seems so familiar to you…”

“Vulgar,” Draco snaps, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips now. “Another no, no for the little woman.”

Harry smiles sweetly back at him and sips at his own champagne cocktail. “If all you want is someone pretty and silent, why don’t you get a real wife for yourself?”

“Oh, doll,” Draco laughs. “I thought you realized by now. I want you.”

“And how much more do I get?” Frederick asks as he pushes at Harry’s collar.

“Get?” Harry snaps. “You get exactly what I’m willing to give you, no more, no less.” He pushes Frederick’s grabbing hand aside and for good measure takes a step back.

“But I thought…”

“Thought what?” Harry continues. “That I’d spread my legs for you like a whore when this engagement was finished?”

“But you’re…”

“An escort,” affirmed Harry. “Not a prostitute. I agreed to escort you to your work function--not to allow you to paw at me like I’m some kind of whore.”

Frederick looks confused, and anxious, and desperate, all looks Harry is intimately familiar with. It’s not that Frederick is bad looking; he might have turned Harry’s head in another setting, but he’s no longer new to this game. He can spot obsessive and unhealthy easily these days.

“Look, Frederick,” Harry says as calmly as he can. “You showed up at your boss’s dinner party with Harry Potter. That’s what you paid for, and that’s what you got. Your colleagues will be talking about that for weeks, and I know I greased the wheels with your boss to give you the Barcelona account.” He sighs as he realizes he’s not getting through to the punter. “Can’t you be happy with what you have?”

“You think I want a wife,” Draco says as he pushes the frock from his shoulders, allowing it to slip over his frame to pool onto the floor.

“I think you know what you want,” Harry answers as he deftly disposes of the other man’s cufflinks. 

Draco leans forward and laughs against his collarbone. “That’s true enough, my dear.”

Harry hisses as the hand squeezes him roughly.

“I don’t want a girl,” Draco pants into his ear. “I don’t want a wife either.”

Harry almost asks ‘what do you want?’ but he isn’t sure he’s ready for the answer. Instead he licks Draco’s neck and makes quick work on the buttons of his finely-pressed shirt. 

Draco tosses the garment onto the floor and works at the bows that secure Harry’s panties to his hips. “For now I want this. Now, tell me how wet you are, how ready for me you are,” his lips are working their way towards Harry’s now.

Harry evades them to gasp as his cock is released and grinds against Draco’s trousers. “I’m soaking, Draco.”

“I’m not comfortable with this,” Bill begins.

Harry sits down in front of Bill’s desk and sets his cloak aside. “You never are, Bill.”

“Alright,” he continues. “I’m still not comfortable with this then. You’ve more than enough money, why be paid at all?”

Harry shrugs. He does not say it’s because he likes the money nearly as much as he likes the sex. “So how much have I made this month then?”

As he always does, Bill sighs and rings for a goblin to bring him the books.

Draco’s cock is still resting wetly against his thigh when Harry finally detaches the scratchy lace bra. It’s ruined now; Draco’s teeth have torn a hole in one of the fine lacey cups. Harry almost feels a pang at its loss--it was brand new only hours ago--but then he reminds himself that he doesn’t exactly enjoy wearing those things.

“That was expensive,” Draco’s protest is diminished by the fact that he’s currently speaking into the back of Harry’s neck where his nose is nestled into Harry’s hair.

“Speaking of expensive, you’ve gone over your scheduled time so that’ll be extra.” It’s not strictly true, but Harry’s still in a spirited mood and it’s always rewarding when he does actually manage to rile the other man up.

There’s a snort and then Draco’s swung his thigh over both of Harry’s, trapping him to the bed. “I’ll have my goblin transfer the money to that accountant of yours, but so long as I’m paying extra…”

A laugh bubbles up from Harry’s newly freed chest. “You know all the really dirty and kinky stuff costs extra.”

Draco’s already rutting gently against his hip, his mouth working at Harry’s shoulder, but he lifts his head up enough to answer. “I thought you knew by now? I’m terribly rich.”

Harry’s sips at his coffee as he examines his morning post. He has three new missives today. Two are new business, recommendations from past clients, but the third is printed on green parchment. 

Tuesday, it reads.

Harry considers it as he sips. He’s not stupid enough to think that this lifestyle of his will continue. He knows Hermione is right, he’ll get older, things will change, eventually he will need to choose to commit to just one person, but right now he’s still not really sure what he wants. 

There is always the possibility that Draco will tire of him. Maybe next week will be the week the green invitation does not arrive. Then again, maybe by next week Harry will find himself someone new. Or maybe they’ll continue this twisted relationship they have. Maybe they have a shot at something more. Maybe. 

He’s not sure what Draco wants, but he’s not sure what he wants either. But for now, Harry has this.

“You’ll see yourself out,” Draco says as Harry pulls off his borrowed jewelry. Draco’s already seated back at his desk, his voice is disinterested once more.

Harry makes a face at the vanity mirror, knowing Draco can’t see, but otherwise does not bother to answer. Sometimes the man can be terribly predictable. Next it’ll be about his shoes…

“And see to it you don’t scuff the marble on your way out.” 

Harry rolls his eyes at himself in the mirror as he reaches for the nail polish remover. Now it’ll be about his…

A hand stops his train of thought, locking around his wrist. Harry looks away from the mirror to find that he’s been snuck up on and Draco’s right beside him.

“Leave it,” he leers as his lips descend. The hand slides down his wrist as a tongue pushes in between his lips. Fingers gently caress his own, sliding against his pink polished nails as Harry wraps his own tongue against the intruder. Then just as suddenly both retreat.

“I like you like that,” says Draco. “Now get out.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on livejounal for HP Sexstars Fest in 2012 and was edited by pandemon_iumas. The prompt; "Draco really likes dressing his doll and taking him out. Escort!Harry," was provided by corona_0304.


End file.
